My family and I always used to go on vacations during the summer.

That is, before my mother passed away.

It wasn't a hit or miss thing, we all knew it would happen eventually.

That didn't make it hurt any less.

My dad wouldn't move for days. It was like he forgot how to function.

My little sister was confused and sad. She kept asking for our mother, causing me to cry and throw a fit.

Sometimes I forgot to get up for school. Or take my sister a bath. Or feed myself and make sure my father was still alive.

Sometimes I forgot I was alive.

But I was and I could feel like everyone else did.

And it hurt, but it was getting better.

                                   ~

We didn't go on vacation that summer.

But I got up one morning to find my dad in the kitchen making breakfast, and my sister sitting at the table.

I almost cried but he hugged me and told me he was sorry.

We all had breakfast together for the first time in weeks.

It felt different and jaded.

But it was a good feeling.

A feeling of 'hey, maybe this can get better'.

And it will.

And it did.